


Byakuya Wears Lingerie Sometimes (And That’s Okay)

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Genderfluid Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 13:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: Sometimes, Byakuya prefers being referred to with hims, hises and hes, and wears suits and masculine clothing that encourages everyone to do that and nothing feels wrong. Other times, Byakuya examines the mirror and it’s like the lighting in the bedroom changed, or someone tidied and moved things around, and when people call Byakuya a boy, Byakuya prickles and wonders.





	Byakuya Wears Lingerie Sometimes (And That’s Okay)

At eight years old, Byakuya stares at his reflection in the full length mirror in his bedroom. He knows that the face reciprocating eye contact belongs to him. They straighten at the same time, budge hair from their eyes at the same time, and his reflection draws their mouth into a little o-shape when he does. Both raise their hand to their chin simultaneously.

The face is undeniably his, but it doesn’t sit right in his gut. Yet, to his frustration, he can’t place what isn’t right about it. It’s like it’s him, but also not. Somehow.

Byakuya turns away.

* * *

 

At nine years old, Byakuya stands obediently still while his mother talks on the phone, cradling the device between her shoulder and cheek as she tweaks and adjusts his suit.

“... He’s studying astronomy then. No, I can’t rearrange it with his tutor. Send someone else, whatever...”

Slightly behind schedule, a photographer arrives. Not the one that Byakuya remembers. This one has bright red hair, a small ponytail and freckles.

His mother eyes the woman. “What are your qualifications?”

“World famous war photographer,” says the woman. She gives a name that satisfies his mother, then to Byakuya, says, “Hello, young lady.”

* * *

 

Something in his gut jolts into place. He squints.

“That’s my son,” says Byakuya’s mother with her usual coldness.

The photographer freezes. “Oh, sorry. Your son, he’s a cutie. I have a daughter slightly older.”

Byakuya’s mother sticks up her nose. The photographer gauges the limits of Byakuya’s mother’s patience and reveals a holster bag attached to her belt. She pulls out her camera.

“I’m going to ask a few questions while I take your picture, okay?” says the photographer. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Byakuya,” says Byakuya, listening to her camera click, sounding like his mother’s tongue whenever she disapproves.

* * *

 

For the rest of the session and that night, he thinks about what the photographer said. Not the shallow questions that she tried to liven up with her face’s warmth, but that misunderstanding, when she referred to him as a girl.

He slips out of bed and flicks the switch by his mirror. In the dark room, he stands in a spotlight. Time nurtured his hair to shoulder length, and he feigns a tie with his hand, creating a ponytail.

“Hello, young lady,” Byakuya murmurs. Byakuya’s reflection doesn’t correct him.

Byakuya’s reflection doesn’t correct her.

Maybe the photographer hadn’t misunderstood.

* * *

 

Sometimes, Byakuya prefers being referred to with hims, hises and hes, and wears suits and masculine clothing that encourages everyone to do that and nothing feels wrong. Other times, Byakuya examines the mirror and it’s like the lighting in the bedroom changed, or someone tidied and moved things around, and when people call Byakuya a boy, Byakuya prickles and wonders.

When Byakuya drops out of the conglomerate's competition, Byakuya’s butler buys feminine clothing on Byakuya’s request, for a disguise.

“I’m Polaris P Polanski,” Byakuya tells the reflection and realises it’s not a disguise, but herself.

Some of the time, anyway.

* * *

 

As per usual, Byakuya wakes early for work. The apartment building that him and his former classmates live in lies within the new Hope’s Peak’s campus. Byakuya takes off his checkered pyjamas and showers in his optimised-for-size bathroom, where everything is white with black accents. Water on the cool side raps against his body. When he steps out, the mirror hasn’t clouded with condensation, so his gaze entwines with his reflection’s. His fingers drift up to his short hair as he stares forward.

When Byakuya reigned victorious in the competition as the sole, rightful heir to the Togami Conglomerate, he discarded his mother’s maiden name and became Byakuya Togami. He sliced off most of his hair upon starting anew, and he idly tries to curl a strand of what remains around his index finger.

It strains to loop. Byakuya’s hand lowers and at the same time as Byakuya, Polaris turns away in the mirror. The door shuts behind them.

Though they strode off in different directions, Polaris leaves the room with, no, as, Byakuya.

Once dry, Polaris opens her wardrobe. Monochrome suits line the hangers. They vary little, nothing beyond a different button style, yet she dithers before pulling one out. She puts it on, feeling like she’s wearing someone else’s clothes.

At the school, Polaris sits in a meeting with the others, led by Makoto on a grey morning.

“... Hagakure-san offered to work as Head Nurse, so that should take some pressure off Asahina-san,” says Makoto. He wipes Aoi’s name off the whiteboard with his sleeve and writes Hiroko’s there instead. “She also said she doesn’t mind helping with reception and Lost Property.”

Yasuhiro exhales loudly and cups his hands behind his head. “We’ve still got to sort that place out. It’s full of old junk.”

“It’s not junk! Some of it belongs to our old classmates,” says Aoi, turning to him, fists up. Yasuhiro cringes with a yelp.

“We do need to go through all the stuff there,” Makoto admits, scratching at his neck.

“I’ll clean it out,” offers Yasuhiro.

The others prepare to reply, but Polaris gets in first.

“Knowing you, you will pawn off any valuables you find,” she sneers. “I’ll go.”

Glances are exchanged.

“It’ll probably be grubby,” says Kyouko.

Polaris’s eyes narrow. “I can handle that. You’ve got a nerve suggesting otherwise.”

“I’ll help!” Touko pipes up.

“And what if Syo comes out? How productive will we be then?” scoffs Polaris. “It’ll be easier if I do this alone.”

Though Touko can be a distraction, she can be rather helpful, but Polaris needs to be by herself for this.

In Lost Property, piles of stuff confront her, unable to be defined by a more succinct label. Poor lighting desaturates the colours of everything. Some of what Polaris finds came from other areas of the school. Keys, old IDs, umbrellas and books are not unusual. She rummages around more.

Shirts, trousers... blouses, skirts...

Polaris bags the largest and doesn’t spot Touko on the way out.

* * *

 

Later that day, Polaris runs a wash in the portable washing machine in her kitchen, and after she dries the clothes on her balcony, mixed in with masculine clothes, she lays them on the bed. They are all components of the standard uniform, and Polaris attempts to try each one on, not checking the mirror yet.

Some skirts cling snugly to her hips. All but one reach nowhere near her knees. Sleeves don’t end where they’re supposed to. Buttons struggle to maintain their composure when fastened.

Choosing the loosest skirt and blouse, Polaris puts them on and looks at the mirror, bathed in the warm colours of the room. Her height and build prove problematic. The clothes don’t complement Polaris at all, too tight, highlighting her masculine form, and her heart pounds as she tears them off herself.

Unable to stand the sight in the mirror, with and without the clothes on, Polaris seizes the shirt and trousers of her suit. She puts them on and everything burns as she sits by the pillows on her bed.

On the bedside table rests her laptop. Polaris loads it up, intending to focus on blueprints for the new security system that she and Yasuhiro are collaborating with Alter Ego and Kazuichi Souda on, the last of who can only contact them over the internet. Much of it’s a work in progress, and Polaris checks her inbox in case someone has information to share.

Though there are no messages of that nature, an email slipped past the spam filter. With a frown, Polaris positions a finger over the delete button on the keyboard, but a glimpse of the title of the email causes Polaris to hesitate.

The title claims to offer a discount on a clothing website if the buyer uses a certain code at the checkout page. Polaris opens the email. No images show, all blocked, and Polaris makes note of the address and searches it on her internet browser. It seems to be a genuine website, so Polaris clicks through to peruse the products in stock.

Clothes are categorized by two genders, tailored to what those who run the website consider to be those genders. When Polaris had dressed in feminine clothing long ago, she had been a teenager barely affected by puberty, still growing, still developing. In another tab, Polaris researches fashion tips for people with her physique, and then returns to the website.

After a fair bit of scrolling, Polaris adds to the shopping cart a black blouse that cinches at the waist, and then grows more impulsive, accumulating more items while ensuring she stays below a reasonable spending money. She buys dark tops, lighter skirts, flared dresses, underwear, belts and high heels. The website asks if she has requirements for the delivery, and Polaris requests the packaging be as inconspicuous as possible.

A confirmation email pings into Polaris’s inbox, promising delivery within a week, and Polaris closes the laptop, reclines and then exhales loudly, staring at the ceiling.

* * *

 

Saturday afternoon, Polaris visits the post room in the apartment building and discovers plain white parcels above her locker. They all fit beneath her arms. She leaves the room with them and on the stairs, Polaris meets no one, but at the last hurdle, she spots Komaru and Makoto loitering in the corridor.

Komaru sights Polaris and raises excited fists with a face to match. “Ooh, what are those, Togami-san?”

“Packages,” Polaris states.

“Ooh, anything exciting?” asks Komaru while Makoto gives a small, almost apologetic smile.

Polaris opens the door to her apartment. “It’s nothing that will kill you, so don’t worry.”

The door closes on Komaru’s pout, and the apartment holds its breath as Polaris walks into her bedroom. She sets out the packages and opens them individually, inspecting the contents before moving onto the next.

Four paper carapaces lie on the bed afterwards, and she pushes them aside, unable to lift her gaze from the items of clothing that had made up the organs of the packaging. Polaris flings off her tie, strips off her shirt and tries on a fully buttoned black blouse, the first item put into her virtual cart. Tempting though it is to dart over to the mirror, she completes her outfit, dressing herself in a light pink skirt and black shoes, and then approaches the mirror.

They fit far better than the items from Lost Property, since returned and packed away in one of many boxes. Her hands cruise down her sides. The blouse goes in slightly at the waist and the a-line skirt reminds her of a less poofy article than what Chihiro Fujisaki wore during the mutual killings all that time ago.

She lingers on Chihiro for the first time in a while, wonders if Chihiro would have still identified as male if Chihiro knew there were more than two options.

Refusing to dwell on them for any longer, Polaris lifts her chin. Polaris’s reflection copies every small shift of weight, every flex and every quiver.

Whatever she wears, she will be Polaris, or Byakuya. Both. Clothing doesn’t dictate who she is but helps her express it. She tries on other clothes, a red dress coupled with a sleek belt bearing a silver buckle, a dark blue dress with a v-neckline, and a white scoop neck t-shirt worn with a black cardigan and bootleg jeans.

In the last outfit, she tries on high heels. Polaris hasn’t worn any since a few ventures into her mother’s room many, many years ago, and she wobbles a bit as she circles the room, finishing back in front of the mirror where her reflection stares back calmly. All she has left to try on is the underwear, and she does that now, a simple black set. She faces the mirror again and inhales sharply as she lays her eyes on her reflection. Fluttering inside, she eases through different poses, paying particular attention to her frame, and when she finally looks up, her reflection smiles back.

* * *

 

On days when he’s a man, Byakuya wears a masculine suit, and as a woman too, but with her new underwear on underneath. Lost Property is still very much a work in progress, and any items around the school that no one knows what to do with finds a place here, where their fates are decided.

“That should do it,” says Yasuhiro from the top rung of the stepladder.

By the door, Polaris flicks the switch on the wall and the room lights up, brighter than ever.

Yasuhiro grins and hops down. He unnecessarily dusts off his hands with his other as he surveys the room. Sorted items reside in boxes labelled appropriately, in categories such as clothing, books, stationery and personal possessions which would only mean anything to those they once belonged to.

“Wow, you’ve done an awesome job,” says Yasuhiro, and he whistles low-pitched.

Polaris just pushes some hair behind her ear. Yasuhiro glances.

“Your hair’s getting kind of long, Togami-chi,” remarks Yasuhiro with no less of a smile. “You want me to cut it for you?”

“No,” she says. Her hand lowers and together with her other arm, they fold over her chest.

Yasuhiro tilts his head to one side before straightening it and shrugging.

“It’s your hair, so it’s your call. Hey, maybe when it’s a bit longer, we can wear ponytails together, ‘right?” says Yasuhiro.

“Absolutely not,” says Polaris, but her eyes unfocus as she imagines herself with one.

“Oh, before I forget, Togami-chi, everybody’s going to the bathhouse straight after work today,” says Yasuhiro, and Polaris drops out of her thoughts like she missed a step on some stairs. “Us, the guys, and the ladies. You in?”

Her lips flatten and the rest of her features harden.

“No. Thanks. I have other plans,” she says. Yasuhiro wilts. “And work. Go on, shoo.”

He scampers out, and Polaris resumes her work. She folds some clothes and puts them in a box, feminine, neutral and masculine all packed together.

Later, in her apartment, she loads up her laptop and searches, ‘I am a man and a woman’, and from there, looks up keywords until she reads the definition for ‘genderfluid’, which denotes a person who doesn’t identify themselves as having a fixed gender. Their gender fluctuates. It has a name.

Polaris changes out of her suit into a red dress and shops online for some more outfits, and there are no expectations, no restrictions, no pressure from the conglomerate or business world anymore. She’s the conglomerate now.

On days when he’s a man, Byakuya wears a masculine suit, and as a woman too, but with feminine underwear on underneath, until one day, Polaris arrives to work in a black skirt suit. Her heels click against the varnished floor as she heads to the staff room. Everyday, around this time, everyone meets up to discuss the day’s goals and give any important updates. At the door, she straightens her posture, elevates her chin and then goes inside.

* * *

 

Four of her former classmates pay Polaris no mind and continue chatting away, sat on couches around a coffee table, but she can depend on Touko to turn as the door whines open.

“Byakuya-sama!” Touko says in a gasp that raises her pitch. The others glimpse her reaction before following the direction of her gaze. They widen their eyes and stiffen.

Yasuhiro glances at Polaris’s legs. He meets her eyes and rubs the back of his neck. “So, uh, was everything else in the wash, Togami-chi?”

Polaris sets one hand on her hip. “I chose this.”

“I can never tell when you’re being sarcastic,” says Yasuhiro. She glares. He winces.

Her eyes sweep across them.

“I’ve decided to tell you all that I’m genderfluid,” Polaris explains. “You know me as male; however, that isn’t always the case. My gender identity shifts, so while I am male at times, other times I’m not. Like now, I’m female, and I can be a mixture of the two.”

Silence creaks.

“What is it?” she snaps.

Makoto raises his hands. “Sorry. We’re just surprised. How long have you felt like this, Togami-kun? Togami-san?”

“-San is preferable,” Polaris says. “And it is something I’ve been aware of for a long time. My clothes don’t dictate my gender, but when I’m dressed more feminine, you’re to refer to me as you would another woman unless I say otherwise.”

Polaris studies them in turn. No one interrupts, taking her in, and she can’t decipher their expressions, to her frustration. Her jaw clenches.

“I’ll answer any questions that you have, so long as they aren’t too intimate,” says Polaris. “However, if any of you disagree with what I have said, then I don’t want to breathe the same air as you.”

Everyone breathes.

“B-Byakuya-sama,” starts Touko, but Polaris raises a hand, signalling her to stop.

“It’s Polaris,” corrects Polaris.

Touko nods and fidgets her hands. In a smaller voice, she says, “Polaris...”

This time, she trails off, letting the name sink into her lips.

Aoi furrows her brow and raises a finger. “It’s a cool sounding name and all, but does Polaris mean something?”

“It’s the North Star, Asahina-chi!” Yasuhiro says incredulously. “The brightest star in the Ursa Minor!”

“I don’t know spacey stuff, okay?”

“Because it lies almost directly above the world’s axis in the northern hemisphere, Polaris only moves in a miniscule circle in the sky,” says Kyouko. “It appears stationery, so the world seems to revolve around it.”

Aoi pouts. “With her ego, the name’s appropriate.”

Polaris narrows her eyes.

“It won’t always be our North Star, because the rotation axis slowly changes direction. Right now, it points almost at Polaris, but eventually, the axis will point to another star instead, and in the even further future, Polaris will become our North Star again,” adds Kyouko.

Makoto smiles. “So, it’s very fitting.”

“Of course. I know what I’m doing,” Polaris huffs, but she can’t help grinning slightly.

Touko chews on the end of her thumb.

* * *

 

Byakuya has lots to focus on during the refurbishment of the school, but he still notices that even though him and Touko are no longer forced apart by the world nearly collapsing, he hardly sees her for the rest of the week despite nothing stopping her.

It shouldn’t bother him. They had their reunion in Towa City, they spoke on video call regularly during their separation, they work together now and all that shouldn’t matter anyway because he shouldn’t care about her.

Lost Property lights up with a flick of a switch, and a large paper bag catches Byakuya’s eye.

* * *

 

He walks over, assuming someone took it here for him to sort, and pulls out a white sleeveless dress. Down the sides, it has a symmetrical ornate design in black, and on the stomach and the back at the same height, another pattern that looks like the tails side of a British coin. It feels incredibly soft and stretches, ensuring a perfect fit, and he drapes it over his arm, peering into the bag again.

There, he finds more, like a hunter green dress with a large bow at the neckline and a belt below the bust. All brand new.

* * *

 

Byakuya scrutinises a purple dress with a midsection wrap adorned with silver, holding it by the shoulder straps, his back toward the door.

“Do you like them, Byakuya-sama?” comes a voice.

He whips his head around.

Touko stands in the doorway, wringing her hands together.

“Where did you find them?” he asks.

She shakes her head and hunches her shoulders when she faces him again.

“I bought them for you,” she says. “I know your measurements.” Easy enough to learn from his suits, or Hiroko, who measured them all recently. “I thought they’d be a good addition to your wardrobe.”

* * *

 

Byakuya realigns his head with his body. He stares at the dress, imagines himself in it.

“I will at least try them on,” he tells her.

“I think... no, I know you’ll be just as beautiful as ever in them,” says Touko. She pauses. “When you told us, your recent behaviours made sense. I saw you take clothes from here, and dry them... and you started growing your hair out, and got all those deliveries... but...”

He stays absolutely still. The room doesn’t interrupt them.

“... I’ve realised that Polaris or Byakuya, my feelings for you won’t ever change,” she says.

* * *

 

Byakuya moistens his lips before putting the dress away and pivoting on his heel. Without initiating eye contact, he marches forward, stopping beside Touko.

“Oi. Fukawa,” he says.

“Hm?”

He holds his hands together behind his back. “Why don’t we have lunch together? Just us two. The others are too noisy.”

“T-T...?” she stutters.

“I don’t have all day.”

“Yes! Always!” she blurts loudly. “B-But... we have the rest of our lives, Byakuya-sama. Not just today.”

Byakuya glances. Her hand rests against her cheek, which cushions a corner of her grin.  He flushes and quickly leaves, letting Touko sidle up.

**Author's Note:**

> happy bday, togami
> 
> the title was inspired by evil-muffins and matrioshka on tumblr!
> 
> also thank you to maddie for beta-reading this!! it became a much better fic because of her.
> 
> ALSO the 5x100 words, 5x500 words and 5x100 words style was inspired by Einzel/Die-Einzelganger's Yowapeda Series. Please check out their fics! They are incredibly well-written and Einzel is a wonderful writer who deserves so much more love.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Chasing Constellations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622357) by [264feet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/264feet/pseuds/264feet)




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